


every me and every you

by geode



Series: RIP the WIPs [5]
Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Pre-Slash, TiMER AU, Time Traveller's Wife au, lots of time travel and angst, mermaid au, some of this isn't even python but like if u squint, this is a dumping ground for all my bits and pieces that never made it past 1000w
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/pseuds/geode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various oneshots that never made it to a fully fledged fic; most of these I planned a whole story for and then promptly forgot about for two years, so now are just snippets of all the lives my favourite two idiots could have had. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. making the most of an unhappy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason's great-nephew repeats history, but instead of bringing an amulet through the portal he brings a notebook.

“ _You’re_ Pythagoras?” he’d said, disbelieving, eyes wide, and it’s exactly the same now, except this Jason is a lot younger and had introduced himself as Michael.

I manage to choke out a _Yes,_ and the boy grins. I can hardly look at him. It’s not the kid’s fault he looks so much like him, but it’s painful.

Michael reaches for his belt, which looks like it’s been made from puckered leather, and pulls a small notebook from a pocket in the side. 

He holds it out. “It’s from my great uncle.” 

I stare at him. “I’m sorry?” 

“Dude, I sacrificed my One Thing for this, and almost died getting it to you. You could at least take it.” 

I take it, warily. The boy grins again, and I almost crumble. He seems to notice. 

He touches my shoulder. “I really am sorry.” 

I look at him, and wonder how much he knows. 

*

_Dear Pythagoras,_

_It’s been four months and I still don’t understand why it happened, or why it had to happen to me._

_I hope you’re all okay. The last thing I remember is being sucked under the ship, and you were screaming at me and then everything went silent under the water and there was a bright light and I thought I was a goner. I was pulled down by this awful pressure, and then it released me and I was hurtling back to the surface so fast I thought my head was gonna explode, but I needed to go help you guys so I swam and – well. You probably don’t care about this stuff. The bottom line is, the sea was calm and flawless when I popped up on the other side. The sun was setting. There was an aeroplane (a type of flying craft we have) overhead. I couldn’t hear anything but the sea and my own breathing. I couldn’t hear you. For a terrible moment I thought I’d made it all up, that you were a figment of my imagination. But I couldn’t ever make you up. That’s cheesy but it's true. My memory of you is the strongest proof I have that it wasn’t all bullshit that my dying brain came up with when my sub crashed._

_I hope you’ll read this one day. I’m working with people who know about portals now. Even if I can’t come back in my lifetime, I hope this book finds you. Fuck sending back scientific papers and technologies and warnings to heed – I just want to say hi, one last time._


	2. my kingdom awaits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pythagoras in the 21stC.

Ridiculously enough, the first thing I think is, _I hope my notebook hasn’t disintegrated._ It’s not even like it’s important; all the useful stuff is in my head. The notebook’s just something I’ve had so long that I’ve developed some sort of emotional attachment to it.

The second thing I think is more sensible: _What the hell is that light?_

I try to open my eyes, but my body seems to be working against me and they won’t even flutter. My limbs feel heavy, and oddly cold considering it’s June. I manage to move an arm over my face to shade me from the brightness piercing through my eyelids, and then the noise hits me.

“Oh my god!”

“Are you okay? Can you move?”

“Is he alive?”

“Dude, can you hear me?”

“Someone call the lifeguard!”

“Where did he come from?”

Voices accosted me from all sides, and I attempt to turn away from them but they’re everywhere, and so _loud_ —

I curl up in a ball, pain rippling through me like waves. I have no idea what’s happening, but no desire to find out either, not just yet. _Go away,_ I think. _Who even are you, anyway?_

After a few minutes of being gently prodded by the group of frantic strangers, a voice more penetrating than the others breaks through.

“Move away, guys. Give him space.” the voice says, and I sense people stepping back. Whoever this person is, I thank them wholeheartedly. “Hey, man. Can you sit up?”

Instantly I dislike him again. _Man?_ How derogatory. I flicker my eyes open, ready to reprimand him for the address, but am shocked by what I see.

The beach is not mine. It is greyer, and the sky above is full of clouds, which hardly ever happens in Atlantis. I’ve never seen this place before. What is more perplexing, however, is the blood-red tower beside me. It’s standing on stilts, and the material it’s made of is completely foreign to me. It is very out of place, almost like it’s from another era.

“Hey,” the voice says again, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whip my head around to look at the man, and his attire shocks me further. I spin around to take in all the other people, and they are all dressed similarly bizarrely. I can’t— I can’t— I don’t _understand._

“What is this place?” I ask, and it comes out louder and higher than I intended. A couple of onlookers step back, and a woman pulls her child to her. I stare at her, helpless. She frowns back.

“He’s clearly mad,” she says to the man with his hand still on my shoulder. She turns to leave, now disinterested.

“I’m— I’m not! I promise you! I just— where am I?” I plead, reaching for her. She jerks away from my outstretched hand.

“Mad.” she repeats.

I really must look it.

All around, the people so concerned with me before begin peeling away from the crowd and returning to their business, rolling their eyes and muttering. The man stays, though, and offers a tentative smile.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I think so, but I…” I trail off as my eyes drift past his and to the building behind him. I splutter, scrambling backwards, trying to stand up and failing because my knees have gone weak. Eventually, I do, and then I stumble sideways, almost falling over again. I swallow, take a deep breath, and slowly turn around in a full circle.

The entire world has changed.

This is not home.

This is not my time. This is not my present tense.

The people, the buildings, the colours— I recognise nothing, and suddenly I am crushed by an overwhelming feeling of being very alone.

I don’t know what to do, so I run from it.

I escape the beach, finding a path lined with a fence made of another incomprehensible material; I can’t look at it. I look at the horizon instead, hoping to see the palace, or the city wall or anything at all that I know, in the distance. The path leads to a large square of hard ground, painted systematically with white lines. Between each two lines lies a cart, but it is unlike any cart I could have imagined. It shines in the sun. A small choking sound makes its way through my lips when I see it: it just gets worse and worse and worse—

I run faster, and at the other end of the hard ground there’s a road swarming with the carts. They’re so quick and dangerous that my brain goes into overdrive and I swerve back into a hedgerow.

“Watch it,” someone says, annoyed, as they walk past me. I watch them go by, and my eyes settle on the direction they’re headed. It’s a city, that much is obvious. But it is too bleak and harsh to be anything like Atlantis.

I start walking anyway. I have nowhere else to g  
o.  
While I walk, I think. _How did I get here?_ Last thing I knew was that I was swimming in the ocean a few miles down from the forest. _Where is this? How long was I out for?_

I enter the city, and try not to cry as I walk among the strange people, between the strange buildings, blinded by strange reflections and colours and lights. I don’t know where I’m going. Perhaps there’s an Oracle around here somewhere. Perhaps a temple. I need to speak to someone—

“Pythagoras?” I hear from ahead, and I raise my eyes from my feet. I stop breathing.

“Jason?”

He looks as confused and stunned as me. “What— how— why—?”

I shrug, and feel tears fill my eyes. “I don’t know.” I sob, and suddenly his arms are around me, and he’s laughing, he’s laughing.

“Holy fuck, Py. Holy _fuck_.”


	3. the unimaginable touch of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time-Traveller's Wife AU

**June 16th 2013 (Pythagoras is 24, Jason is 28)**

PYTHAGORAS: I drew the short straw and was exiled into the rain-spattered streets, Mark yelling through the letterbox that if I didn't get back within twenty minutes he'd pronounce me dead and claim my record player. I swear the bloody straws are biased against me; in the last two months I've been the only one actually doing the coffee run. I'd point it out if I didn't rather enjoy the walk from our apartment block to the city centre. (But I’m not going to say that either.)

It's raining harder than I'd anticipated, and I weave down the pavement ducking under shop awnings whenever they prove useful. I watch the people walking in the opposite direction, coming towards me, imagining their lives and how they're feeling right this second. The best thing about being alone, I've found, is that you really do get to know the rest of the world.

I try and think of anything other than my work, which is going nowhere at the moment. It's dragging me down, and today I want to feel buoyant, if only so that my exhaustion doesn’t break me, so I let go of it. The air is cool, but not unpleasant. The sun is miraculously apparent for England, and I stretch my neck out, wishing I could photosynthesise - turn the rays of light into energy, or a good mood.

I'm just turning onto Paddon Street when I knock straight into someone.

"God, sorry," the man says apologetically, grabbing my arm to steady himself, then quickly pulling away. I regain my footing and glance up to say It's fine, but what I actually end up saying is an embarrassingly enthusiastic, "Jason!"

Jason looks bewildered, an expression I've seen on him so many times it's like an old friend in itself. It's obvious he has no idea who I am.

"Hi," I say unnecessarily, trying desperately to stop smiling.

"Hello?" he replies uncertainly, and I realise with a jolt that if I carry on like this, the beaming spluttery freak, I'll scare him off. He steps back a little, glancing behind him.

"No! Wait, I'm— Sorry, I'm just so happy to see you. I'm Py." I offer my hand, and he shakes it gingerly. He opens his mouth to ask something, but I jump to explain first. "I've known you for a long time, but you've not met me yet."

"I— okay." he replies, forehead scrunching in confusion. He's younger than I've ever seen him, and he's adorable. He was still adorable at thirty six, but this is like baby-rabbit level of adorableness. He's wearing a swamping Ramones t-shirt and strangely fitting jeans and sandals. Not the worst he's had. Certainly better than some of the crap I made him wear over the years.

"Have coffee with me." I blurt out. "I'll tell you everything there is to tell, so long as you say yes."

He grins slowly. "Sure. Coffee."

We walk the couple of streets to a _Costa_ , me chattering on about how I didn’t think I’d go through the whole of university without him, how my life had tipped over since he’d been gone, forgetting completely about the rain and the record player and the rest of London, really. He listens, quieter than usual.

“Sorry,” I say at last, once we’ve sat down with our drinks. “I don’t mean to be all— hyper. I’m in shock.”

“Me too,” he smiles, swirling sugar into his mug. I grin. 

“I guess that’s something I never knew about you, then. That shock is the thing that shuts you up.”

He goes red. “Well. Uh, maybe not shock. Just— hot strangers being really pleased to see you and buying you coffee? I’m not well-versed in that area, I must say.”

It’s my turn to blush now. “Well.” I say.

Jason looks up at me through his eyelashes, and I feel like the planet’s spinning too fast.

“You said you’d tell me everything.” he says. I take a deep breath.

“Well, I met you when I was seven and you were thirty eight, when you appeared naked in my garden. From then on you showed up every few weeks or so, and I gave you clothes and food and stuff. You never stayed more than three hours, so mostly we just talked. You helped me with my homework until I was nine, at which point your knowledge ran out. The oldest I saw you was forty two. The youngest, uh, thirty three I think? And then when I was eighteen you gave me a notebook of numbers and said you wouldn’t be back in a while. And you weren’t.”

“Sounds like a bit of a dick move on my part.” He’s smiling, but he looks sheepish.

“More the universe than you,” I reassure him. He laughs, and all of a sudden I'm amazed I lived without it. “Another drink?”


	4. when's it my turn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Little Mermaid AU. See end chapter notes for the entire ridiculous idea I wrote down at 3am xD
> 
> "Pythagoras never wanted to be a prince. He never wanted a tail, either."

_♪ I like to draw equations,_

_In the sand of my bedroom floor. ♪ ♪_

 

"Py, wake the hell up! _Py!_ "

Medusa's voice floats faintly through my dream, volume disproportionate to tone. It rolls towards me like a wave from the horizon, until it breaks over my head and the real world crashes down with it.

Her eyes are wide and angry and only an inch away from mine when I blink myself conscious.

"Woah," I yelp, falling out of bed sideways.

"The ceremony starts in twenty minutes, you idiot! Didn't you set an alarm?" she hisses, my dress-shirt hitting me in the face as I start to climb off the floor, closely followed by my collar.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you know I'm a heavy sleeper," I whine, pouting.

" _Now_ I know that, yeah," she replies, turning sharply and leaving the room so I can change, leaving me sitting there rubbing my temple and trying to think straight. "I'll see you out here in five, else you're dead, Py. Dead."

I sigh, and swat the bubbles grumpily with my hand.

Four minutes thirty seven seconds later (aprox), we're outside the doors leading into the great hall. I'm staring at them like I haven't seen them every day of my life so far. I didn't think I'd be this nervous.

"You ready?" Medusa asks, voice gentle for the first time that morning, possibly ever.

"Yep, just about," I manage, glancing over at her.

She grins at me, and after a moment I stick my tongue out in return. She slaps me fondly with her tail.

"Go get 'em, First in Line."

"Cheers, Duce. I'll do my best."

And then she shoves me through the doors and the trumpets sound, and I have to put my Royalty Face on.

 

The hall is brightly lit, and there are people absolutely everywhere. I'm pretty sure it's busier than it was at the Freedom Banquet last month, but maybe that's the fear talking. Father's lounging in his throne at the other end, seemingly disinterested in this whole thing. (I know he isn't, but I feel sorry for him so pretend I believe his façade.) Ariadne smiles at me from his side.

Sighing, I start swimming along the path of gold gravel running down the middle of the room. As I pass by, people bow, and I want to say, _Stop it, guys,_ but I can't, I have no place to, even now, so I just smile off-handishly like I've been taught. It gets old pretty quickly, the whole prince thing.

When I get within lip-reading distance, Ariadne mouths, mock-sternly, _You're late._ I make a face at her. _It's almost like I didn't want to come,_ I mouth back. She rolls her eyes and leans in to whisper something to father. I look away, but not quite quickly enough to miss his face lighting up at the reminder of her existence. Eighteen years and it still gets to me.

I reach the front of the room and turn around to face the crowd. I nod once, as is my procedure. They raise their heads, as is theirs. I settle into my throne, to father's right.  
Reluctantly, it seems, he takes his cue. "Citizens," he addresses the throng. "May I welcome you to the Coronation of my son, my first born - Pythagoras!" There’s lots of cheering and I try to look happy. Somehow, no one in this arrangement is happy about it but it’s still going through.

At least I can zone out during the formalities: I mean, it’s not exactly taxing to have a crown placed very slowly and painstakingly on your head. Instead, I try to recall my dream. There had been waves, beautiful, dangerous waves crashing and swirling. I know from the one regrettable time I opened up to someone that dreaming about waves is not merely uncommon but a cause for concern, but I’ve been having these dreams as long as I can remember. It’s not like I’ve actually seen any in real life, but the palace murals are very vivid, not to mention the tales Nurse used to tell Ari and me.

One day, I’m gonna see them. I’ve made a promise to myself. Father can control many things about my life, but he can’t control my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full story! Fasten yer seatbelts, kids.
> 
> Ariel - Pythagoras  
> Big sis - Ariadne  
> Triton - Minos  
> Flounder - Medusa  
> Sebastian - Hercules  
> Eric - Jason  
> Ursula - Pasiphae
> 
> Minos, merking of Atlantis, forbids any of his citizens to go ashore (because was denied legs and is bitter about it because he wants to dance). His daughter Ariadne respects this and has no desire to leave the sea. His son Pythagoras, however, has a burning curiosity to walk on land. His best friend Medusa, a fish, tries to dissuade him from the idea, but he is adamant. Eventually, after a brief encounter with hot sailor Jason on the surface, Pythagoras visits Pasiphae, the evil sea witch and asks to be human for a few days in exchange something (she asks for his royalty). Hercules, Minos' watchcrab, follows, as does Medusa. So they can't grass on him, Pythagoras brings them into it. They all turn human and wash up on the coast. Blah blah fluffplot here. Sadly, they return, and Pasiphae is trying to kill Minos so that there will be no male king and the position will be up for grabs for her also-evil son Heptarian. Pythagoras goes to get Jason while Hercules and Medusa lure Pasiphae to shallower water. Jason fights her and wins, bottling her magic. Minos is fine, and goes back to being king. They all drink the bottled magic so that in water they have tails and on land they have legs. Everyone is happy. All is gay.


	5. tick tick boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explanation for the wristbands.
> 
> Or, the effects of time travel on Timers.

Jason hadn't ever been much of a romantic; he wasn't one of those people who looked at their timer as often as their watch, so it's not entirely surprising that he didn't notice it clicking from forty six years, eight months and twelve days to thirty one minutes and four seconds. He distractedly wrapped the leather wristband around it to keep it heating up in the harsh new sun and burning him, but that was habit. What was surprising, though, was that it took him several days to realise it had gone blank afterwards. I mean, you can forget your arm but how do you selectively not hear noises?

They're having dinner when his eyes finally pass over the vague area of his left hand. His throat stops working and he starts to choke on the bread he was in the middle of eating. The zeroes stare at him, pulsing in the back of his brain. He stands up like he sat on hot coals, chair falling over, backing away from the table with his arm held in front of him.

"What's up with you?" Hercules asks, popping an olive in his mouth, not sounding all that bothered.

Jason flicks his gaze to him before turning and running to his room. Once inside, bed pushed against the door and the constant of his heartbeats as low as he could expect them to be right then, he yells out, "I'm okay, just not feeling too good."

Then he thinks.

Last time he looked at his timer about a month ago, it had said he had nearly half a century left before he met 'the one', and now apparently he already had. Something must've changed - something really big. What had happened in the last thirty days? Was it before Atlantis? No, it can't have been, nothing remotely big happened before the sub crashed. So she was here, in Atlantis? Jesus, his true love lived thousands of years before he did.

But hang on, if she was here, who would've been at the end of the half century? Is it possible to have two 'the one's? Maybe there... well, he'd heard of cases where people's soulmates were... unavailable, for various terrible reasons, so their timers had set themselves to count down for the next best thing.

Ah, but that could work both ways, right? The love of his life was either in the future, and now he would never meet her so he'd been assigned someone else, or she was here, and if he hadn't found the portal he never would've even had a chance.

Whatever. This is giving him a headache. The basics are that he's in Atlantis and there's someone nearby that the universe thought he should shag. He just had to figure out who she was, now. Who had he met? Ariadne. Medusa. That's it, really.

 _Damn._ "The bitch or my best friend's girlfriend," he murmurs. What a fucking conundrum.

At least here, he had nothing but time.


	6. finity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The downfall of the prophetic hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how to categorise this so i stuck it here uwu

1.

You never considered the possibility that you wouldn't be going back; the return was a deadline, stamped right there on your ticket to destiny. It shaped your bravery, let's be honest - you knew you wouldn't die, _couldn't_ die, not in the face of anything but the end. So you fought and fought - careful to break all your nails, so sure of the advantage - and then you started to drag your sword a little: _where is this going?_ Then you watched the end pass by like a train, watched yourself in the spaces of where you weren't. And the dead floated through the gates, ripped open by faceless gods who don't have to deal with consequences.

 

2.

You thought he couldn't die, because you knew his story and it was still unfinished, so you let yourself give up worrying about him. This was one of two major mistakes you made regarding your delusion that while things ended, it was something that happened to other people. As you sat in the sand, his lifeless body rocking in your lap, you realised that you knew the answer to his question, and that all this time it was you who wrote it down, signed his name and handed it to the future. He was never really needed.


End file.
